


The Blonde, the Baby and the Bad, Bad Queens.

by Velace



Series: Incomplete. [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Evil Swan Queen, F/F, Fluff and Humor, Smut, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 01:38:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13156434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velace/pseuds/Velace
Summary: On an unintentional trip forward in time, the Evil Queen discovers something about her future that she is more than eager to experience for herself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an… alternate version, I guess, of Fallen where instead of Emma and Regina going into the past, the Evil Queen comes to them, and with them :P
> 
> I was going to wait until this was finished, but after two months of nothing, I figure the muse needs a little more motivation to get a move on. Feel free to harass her.
> 
> Sidenote: The title is horrendous but it made me laugh *shrug*

In a brilliant flash of purple light something tumbles forth from the very air itself with a few muttered curses, landing in the grass in a tangle of darkly coloured fabric and limbs.

Growling, Regina picks herself up from the ground and dusts herself off.  She glances around while doing so, the motion of her hands slowing as realization sinks in and her brow furrows in confusion, voice tinged with a dash of murderous frustration.

"Where in all the demon realms am I now?"

"Storybrooke." She turns quickly to find what appears to be a teenage boy sitting on a wooden bench, looking up at her from the book in his lap. He grins at her blank stare. "Hi past mom."

"Excuse me?"

He tilts his head. "You're the Evil Queen, right?"

"So they say," she drawls. Personally, she hates the moniker and if she could just get her bearings, she might seriously contemplate ringing the scrawny little runt's neck for reminding her.

"I'm your son…" He pauses, face contorting before he shrugs and corrects, "Well, I will be. You're in another world, about four decades into the future, give or take a few years."

"You are speaking gibberish boy, there is no such thing as time travel." Not to mention she would have to be somewhere in her mid to late sixties. She'd already raised one teenager and Tartarus would be known as a realm of rainbows and unicorns before she committed to a repeat of that atrocity so far into her life.

"Is too," he argues. "I'm Henry, by the way."

Hearing her father's name, she falters. "You are…" She catches herself in time with the knowing twinkle in his eyes and she sniffs indifferently, replying casually, "I'm sure there are many Henrys in many worlds."

"Not really," he denies just as casually.

She huffs and his smile, which she absolutely does not find endearing, has her rolling her eyes. The child is clearly touched. "Where are your parents?"

"You're at work," he answers as though she's already accepted what he's told her as truth. "Ma is probably still sleeping."

"Ma," she repeats. If he isn't lying about who he is and where she's ended up, then that is either a very strange name for a man, or her future self has some explaining to do.

"Emma," he elaborates. "Calling you both mom just confuses everyone."

Suspicion confirmed, her lashes flutter as she silently processes the information. It's not that she's never thought about it. She has caught herself looking from time to time, but she'd never gone through with the idea of bedding a woman, never mind falling in love and apparently having a child with one.

She's merely surprised, is all.

"You have two mothers…"

He nods. "Yup."

"And you claim I am one of them," she continues.

"Yup," he repeats.

She eyes him warily as she questions, "Is proper vocabulary not taught as a part of your education?"

His cheeks dimple with another grin, this one much wider and more mischievous than the first. "Yup," he drawls, mouth popping on the p.

Again, she huffs, though she realizes she's also smiling too late to prevent him from seeing it. He does remind her a little of herself when she was around his age; all those awful lessons her mother made her suffer through for the sake of appearances and what-have-you-s.

Given the chance to rebel, she'd have taken it in an instant, no matter how small.

"Hmm."

"I can take you to her… you," he offers, then frowns. "That's weird."

"Indeed," she agrees before conceding for the moment. "Very well. Take me to my future self." At least if this truly is her future, she'll have a better chance of returning to her own time with two of her working to find the correct spell.

Henry jumps up from the bench, peering at her sheepishly when his eagerness causes the book in his lap to fly forward. She catches it easily enough and hands it back to him, smirking at his open mouth before he thinks to close it.

"Sorry. Thank you," he mumbles, cheeks pinking. "This way."

With no shortage of amusement, she follows the embarrassed boy out on to what is almost an entirely deserted street. What glimpses she manages to get of those inhabiting this Storybrooke with her are few and mostly through the large windows dotting the buildings they pass along the way.

She wonders at the lack of commotion her appearance garners only briefly before they reach their destination and she's led up the stairs into one such building. The woman, who Henry informs her is her receptionist, stares at her dumbly, mouth agape and face pale as though she's seen a ghost.

After a stuttered assurance that his mother is in, Henry then leads her passed the woman and through the door. Her own mouth nearly parts in a gasp at the sight of what is apparently her future self.

There is no mistaking that it is indeed her. "Well," she purrs silkily as her future self shoots to her feet. "I knew I was attractive, but this is simply ridiculous. What are you wearing?"

"Oh god."

"Really," Henry says, looking at her from over his shoulder.

She raises a brow. "What?" He opens his mouth to reply when she remembers and interrupts, "Oh right, your mother."

"And yourself," he adds with a roll of his eyes.

"Henry," his mother interjects, "what have I told you about bringing stray Evil Queens home with you?"

"In my defense, we've never had that conversation." The older woman's mouth twitches at that, but then she outright smiles at his next words. "Also, this isn't home, it's your office."

"Your mother is right, you are a little shit."

"Thanks," he chirps, crossing the room to her. He kisses her on the cheek, causing the smile to widen, and asks, "Can I have some money? I'm hungry."

With an expression that can only be described as fond, her counterpart responds, "You're a bottomless pit, child of mine."

"Blame time," he counters, grinning impishly.

"I'd rather blame your mother," she retorts.

"That works."

Kissing his forehead, she rolls her eyes and gestures off to the side. "Take twenty from my purse and get out."

"Yes ma'am."

He raises his hand in a salute then turns abruptly, missing the amused shake of his mother's head as he wanders over to a low table and rifles through what the Queen assumes is her purse. She watches him curiously, a familiar ache growing inside of her chest as everything he'd said begins to sink in.

She has a son. Despite what she'd done to herself to protect any child she might have had from her mother, she somehow has a son that she'd named after her father. She has a son who isn't afraid of her, who actually seems to love her.

"See ya, past mom."

Hearing his voice from behind her, she jerks around, startled. "Henry," she murmurs in farewell, and smiles when his hand appears in a brief wave before he closes the door behind him.

"He's a good boy."

Turning slowly, she faces her future self with a raised brow. "Unless I misheard, you just told him he was a little shit."

Her counterpart chuckles and the Queen finds herself moving closer, drawn to this older version of herself more and more. "A joke between the three of us," Regina explains, stepping out from behind her desk, allowing the Queen much closer than she would have gotten otherwise. She murmurs, "I don't recall playing with time travel in the past."

The Queen takes her cheek in hand, inspecting her face as she says, "I imagine you'll provide me a memory potion before I leave." Whatever she's been doing for the last thirty odds years to keep herself looking so young clearly works. "You are stunning."

"Vanity tends to have that effect," Regina drawls as she captures her wrist and lowers the hand from her face. "Drink?"

"Do I become such a bore that I would rather drink than admire something exquisite?" A deep throated chuckle is her only answer as Regina crosses to the other side of the room. Her gaze falls to the pronounced sway of hips and she smirks. "Or perhaps not."

Regina glances back at her with a grin. "I'm starting to see what our wife means when she calls me a pervert."

"Please," the Queen scoffs, almost choking on the sound when her brain registers that word. "Wife," she practically screeches, and flushes an instant later as her counterpart laughs.

"Fiancée," Regina confesses eventually. "We're not married yet, although it's been said we started acting as if we were long before either of us realized it. So… close enough."

Before she can think of anything to say to that, the door bursts open and both of them turn, fireballs at the ready. The Queen steps forward, her upper lip curling with the beginnings of a snarl when a hand lands on her shoulder, the sound of her laughter filling the room once more.

Freezing, she turns her head to stare at herself in confusion. "Do I lose my mind at some point in this future of ours?" It would explain this ridiculous talk of marriage, and the blonde woman who'd just barged in uninvited not yet turned to cinders for daring. "Perhaps through an accident of some kind?"

Regina bites her lower lip, eyes dancing with mirth as she squeezes her shoulder reassuringly. "Meet Emma Swan, your future wife."

Eyes wide, her head whips back around to the blonde woman who smiles, her expression sheepish as she raises her hand and wiggles her fingers. "Hi."

Taking a moment to compose herself, the Queen dismisses the fireball and straightens her spine. Repurposing the magic buzzing at the tips of her fingers, she flicks her wrist, disappearing, then reappearing within an inch of her future wife's face.

Something resembling a squeak escapes Emma's throat and the Queen smirks.

"I am impressed you stood your ground," she purrs, letting her eyes roam the woman's physique before she adds, "Less so upon hearing that sound."

Hooking a finger into the loop of her trousers, she tugs, circling behind Emma as the blonde stumbles forward before righting herself. "I see manhandling people isn't a recent development," she drawls wryly.

"Oh it is," Regina assures her. "What you may not realize yet, however, is the fact that being mine makes you hers, and as I do so enjoy 'handling' you, one can only assume she will too."

 

* * *

 

When Emma feels the hand on her ass, her eyes widen and she lurches forward, spinning on her heel. The Queen smiles coyly, lashes fluttering as Regina chuckles knowingly from behind her.

"Much as I love your hands," she states seriously, going so far as to raise her finger and point as one might while scolding a child. She really loves those hands. "No."

The warmth at her back alerts her to Regina having gotten close. "Careful, dear," she murmurs, resting a chin on her shoulder. "You're giving me ideas."

"No, I—" She frowns. She wasn't trying to give anyone ideas. She was, in fact, trying to do the exact opposite because more is the absolute last thing she needs right now… in this room… with two different yet equally attractive Reginas. "Huh?"

"No," Regina repeats, husked in her ear as arms capture her around the waist. " _Bad Queen_."

"Ba—" Jesus Christ. "Damn it, why'd you have to go and put that into my head? I'm trying to behave."

She'd been doing so well for those five whole minutes too.

"Not on my account, I hope," the Queen says with a sly grin.

Emma presses back against her Regina, the plea unspoken but loud for someone who knows her as well as she does. Regina ignores the silent request regardless and continues to hold her in place as she starts to speak.

"Do you remember that week in Chicago?" Emma frowns. Of course she remembers. She remembers every moment she's spent with Regina, even those first awful but wholly exciting months they spent 'hating' one another. "Do you remember the bar you dragged me to… the one with the red head you thought a good idea to proposition?"

With every word, Emma's eyes grow wider. She definitely remembers that. She remembers the following week too, when Regina banished her from the house and she had to crash on her parents couch. She also remembers the week after that where she couldn't sit for longer than a few minutes because it turns out Regina is way more possessive than she thought.

"I was drunk," she reminds her. It wasn't an excuse then, and she knows it isn't one now, but it's the only one she has and damn it, she'd apologized a thousand times over and more since. "I thought we were letting that go as one of my idiotic moments?"

Regina hums. "You can if you like…"

Sensing there's more, Emma hesitantly prompts, "But?"

"But," Regina purrs, kissing the spot beneath her ear that never fails to send a shiver down her spine. "You might also recall my verbal response to your proposition."

Emma swallows thickly. As a matter of fact, she does remember it.

As the implication settles and a plethora of images bombard her brain, she stares at the Queen who holds her gaze, tongue wetting her lower lip before she questions, "Why do I suddenly feel as though I'm the topic of some perverse fantasy?"

Regina snorts. "Is that a complaint?"

"We both know that would be absurd," she admits, teeth flashing with a predatory grin. "The prospect of such depravity overwhelms me with delight. I was however starting to wonder if I'd somehow unknowingly ceased to exist."

"I wager you exist quite prominently in here." Emma twitches when a finger taps the side of her head, her cheeks heating. "Our beautiful girl has a positively delightful imagination, don't you, dear?"

Gaze fixed to the ever growing smirk on the Queen's lips, Emma nods dumbly, not entirely sure what it is she's agreeing to exactly but under the circumstances, not much caring either.

A chuckle sounds beside her ear. "She does tend to become rather… single-minded given the chance, but I've always found that to be to my advantage."

"Gorgeous, creative and easily tempted." Dark eyes fall to her chest and Emma strangles a whimper as the Queen purrs, "I do believe I'm beginning to see the appeal."

Really, she should be offended. She's appealing because she's pretty, sex crazed and weak willed? It shouldn't turn her on. It really shouldn't, but well— there is that whole sex crazed to take into account and while it might not be her Regina looking at her like that, it is definitely a Regina.

Drunk and stupid, she'd invited a stranger to their hotel room once, hoping Regina would indulge her. It was a mistake but she'd been horny and not thinking straight, and it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Regina was courteous in turning the woman away while making it clear her girlfriend was an absolute moron and not to be taken seriously, drunk or otherwise. When they eventually made it back to their hotel though, courteous was the very last thing Regina was to her. It was a memorable trip for many reasons, but the most important of all were those words Regina growled against her shoulder, teeth clamping down on flesh as she pounded into her from behind.

_"The only cunt you will ever bury your pretty little face in, is mine. The only cunt you will be inside of, is mine. The only fingers your cunt will ever cling to again, are mine. Do you understand me, Emma?  You are mine and I do not share."_

Emma shudders as the memory hits her full force. She understood then just as clearly as she understands now. "She's you," she breathes suddenly, mouth drying as the extent of that realization washes over her.

Regina laughs, low and teasing. "Yes dear."

Groaning, Emma turns to rest her forehead against Regina's temple. "Will she…"

Again, there is another laugh. "Oh yes," Regina purrs. "You wouldn't leave such an exquisite creature wanting, now would you, Your Majesty?"

"Well…"

 

* * *

 

Regina frowns, not expecting hesitation of all things. "Well," she repeats, prompting irritably, "Well what?"

"Well," the Queen drawls. "In case you've somehow forgotten, this…" She gestures to the world around them. "—is all quite new to me," she says, then gestures to Emma. "This especially. I have not…"

She trails off but Regina understands instantly, eyes wide as she stares at her younger self. "Oh." If women— pleasing women, specifically, is new to this version of her then—"You are much younger than I first thought."

Which makes a lot more sense now that she thinks about it. While she has always been somewhat on the brazen side when it comes to those she sees as potential bed warmers, she was much less open with her attraction later in life, too caught up in her desire for Snow White's head, preferably adorning the tip of a sword, preferably a well-bloodied sword.

Kissing Emma softly on the lips, she murmurs, "Sorry dear," and releases her. Not wanting to see the disappointment on her face, she turns, walking back to her desk as she says, "I suppose you'll be wanting help finding your way back?"

"Later."

Surprised, she frowns and turns back. She almost laughs at the thoughtful expression her younger self wears while staring at Emma. She had forgotten for a moment there. She used to be so curious and much like her true first time, it seems her lack of experience isn't about to deter her now either.

"You won't remember," she reminds the Queen. Her first time will remain her first as far as her memories are concerned, which makes this all the more unfortunate for herself given just how well Emma pleases her.

The Queen gestures to Emma's face and Regina barks out a laugh as she then questions, "How do you resist that?"

"With a lot of practice," she admits. Practice that fails more often than not, but it fails in the most satisfying way possible. "Not looking at it helps."

"I fear I may be too late for that."

Amused, she saunters back over to them and returns her arms to Emma's waist. "I see you still have some of that imp left in you," she purrs, nibbling the protruding lower lip when Emma turns her head. "You know how I detest being taken advantage of."

"That is a lie of the tallest order," Emma murmurs, licking the lip before she leans in and captures her mouth. Regina hums softly into the kiss before it breaks and Emma says, "You love it when I take advantage of you."

She does. Oh how she does. "I really do," she admits with a chuckle. Glimpsing her counterpart's interest in her peripheral, she smirks. "It seems you have me right where you want me, Miss Swan."

"You think?"

"Mmm," she hums. She knows that look. She sees it in the mirror every time Emma has to leave too early in the morning, their first few waking minutes spent teasing one another, building each other up with promises neither can keep in the moment. That is a look of yearning. "You're too far away."

The Queen blinks slowly, then takes a step forward. Regina chuckles and nudges Emma with her hip. Emma reaches out, thumb and forefinger pinching the fabric of the Queen's dress as she encourages her closer.

"Wait." Regina captures the hand of her younger self as it rises to touch Emma. She entwines their fingers and questions, "Perhaps we should take this home?"

Emma snickers softly, releasing her dress and taking the Queen by the other hand. She brings them together, chest to chest, as she teases, "Are you suddenly too good for your desk, Your Highness?"

"Majesty," they offer the correction together and without much thought.

"Considering what we're about to do, you both should be glad I can still form complete sentences," she counters, scoffing. "Fuck your royal distinctions."

Regina chuckles, tongue flicking the lobe of her ear before she says, "Clearly we'd much rather fuck you, dear."

 


	2. Chapter 2

As the room changes and magic swirls around them, the Queen takes a few steps, intrigued as she looks around at what will one day be the house she shares with not only a son, but someone she actually wants to marry and genuinely seems to love.  "This is home?"

"Yeah, it's great." Hearing the dismissive whine in Emma's voice, she glances over her shoulder to see the glare Emma sends her counterpart. "You couldn't have poofed us straight to the bedroom?"

Folding her arms, Regina deadpans, "Your desperation amuses me." 

"Ass."

"That excites me," she says, leering at said ass as Emma moves forward.

Finding the two of them most entertaining, the Queen chuckles but when Emma grabs her hand and proceeds to drag her towards the stairs, she gasps, about to protest when Regina states from behind, "I did warn you," she says, following them at a more sedate pace. "Single minded. We get used to it embarrassingly quickly."

Feeling the flutter in the pit of her stomach, the Queen believes it, thoroughly confused by the fact. "We like it?"

"We do."

"How odd," she murmurs before a door opens and she's tugged into another room.

Entering behind them with a chuckle, Regina closes the door. "Emma," she says chidingly. "I know you're excited, love, but do at least try not to injure her."

Dropping her hand, Emma turns, her expression sheepish. "Sorry."

The Queen rotates her shoulder, imitating a shrug but rather stretching her arm. She shakes her head. "Quite alright," she replies. "Truthfully, I find your eagerness rather… flattering."

While she is no stranger to being wanted, being wanted by Emma Swan has made her rather curious. Not one person who has shared her bed has ever touched her without permission much less handled her in such a way. It is flattering and, as her future self claimed only moments ago, she really does like it. 

Stepping into the small space between them, she places her hands on Emma's hips. Upon closer inspection, she notes the slight pink in her cheeks and grins. "Perhaps you might indulge me, however?" She leans into her as Emma nods slowly, and purrs, "You have me willing, dear, there is no need to rush."

The shade of pink deepens as Emma's eyes drift over her shoulder. She turns to follow her gaze, brow rising upon finding her future self leaning against the wall, watching them. "Are you not planning to join us?"

Regina smiles softly and shakes her head. "Your first time shouldn't be with yourself."

"You're just going to watch?"

She raises a brow of her own, grinning as she says, "You ask as though you aren't already aware of precisely how much we enjoy watching."

Recalling a number of times in past where that had been true, the Queen mirrors her grin. "Fair point," she concedes. "But I think our future wife would prefer your participation."

"I don't doubt it," Regina admits, pushing from the wall. She crosses to the chair on the other side of the room and takes a seat, arms draped along the arm rests as she leans back and crosses her legs. "And if our future wife pleases you as well as I know she can, I shall consider it. Until then…"

Wanting to see Emma's reaction, still grinning the Queen turns her attention back to the blonde. Struck by the unabashed hunger staring back at her, the grin promptly falls and her lips part. Emma's mouth is on her before she can even question it and she moans, surprised and delighted in equal measure. 

For her first kiss from a woman, she can't imagine wanting more than this. Emma's lips are soft and warm, neither dry nor wet. Emma kisses with both passion and tenderness, and when the she feels the first touch of a tongue, she opens her mouth, eager for more and moaning even louder as the kiss deepens.

Winding an arm about her waist and tangling a hand in her hair, she holds Emma close, kissing her back with the same fervor. She moans again when Emma palms the cheeks of her ass, fingers digging into the flesh beneath her dress.

Suddenly airborne, she breaks the kiss with a gasp and latches on to the closest thing she can for support. Feeling the flex of muscle beneath her palms, she glances down and desire pools between her thighs.

"Oh my."

All that definition practically begging her to sink her teeth into it. 

If she hadn't seen the appeal before, then she is definitely seeing it now.

 

* * *

 

"It gets better," Regina offers knowingly, recalling the moment she first discovered exactly how fit Emma is. 

Those arms are gorgeous and certainly one of Emma's best features but they don't compare to her stomach. She's wet simply from thinking about all the hours she's spent licking, sucking and biting those abs. That her reaction to them turns Emma on even more is the icing on the figurative cake and remembering the way Emma writhes beneath her during is enough to make her mouth water.

"Does it?" the Queen murmurs, peering back at her and Regina nods.

Impatient for them to get a move on, she encourages, "Darling, remove that highly flattering shirt for me, would you?"

Emma obliges her but like the tease she's proven to be, she does it all far too slowly. From turning and placing the Queen gently down on the edge of the bed, to grabbing the lower half of her tank top and pulling it up over her head.

With the reveal of all that flesh, however, Regina finds she minds less and less. She smiles upon hearing her younger self moan for the third time and hums in sympathy. 

The only thing that tops Emma's stomach is her pussy. Not just the sight of it when it's all wet and puffy but the scent— the taste.

Gods, what she wouldn't give to have Emma in her mouth right now.

Licking her lips, she leans forward just as Emma's pleasured sigh tells her the Queen has had a similar idea, and she gives a sigh of her own because while Emma's back is a truly beautiful sight on its own, she realizes she can't see a damn thing from her position. 

She quickly stands and walks over to the bed.

Emma smirks at her, expression cocky. "Change your mind?"

"You wish," she teases, climbing on to the bed and sliding back against the headboard. Her eyes flicker down to Emma's breasts as she grins and adds, "I simply decided a change in scenery was in order."

A snort has her grin widening and she allows her gaze to fall lower. Seeing the sheen of saliva left by the Queen's mouth causes her stomach to flip.

"I think she might like them more than you do."

"Impossible," she murmurs, shifting slightly to ease the pressure between her thighs. She is happy to see her younger self certainly appreciates them at least. "Take off your pants."

"Shouldn't she be the one dictating the pace?" Her eyes snap up with her glare and Emma raises her hands, grinning. "Just asking, my Queen."

Regina's nipples harden beneath her blouse at the title. It isn't the first time Emma has laid claim to her like that, but her reaction is the same regardless. "She's… preoccupied at the moment," she reasons, a blindingly obvious lie even if it is true. 

She wants Emma naked desperately, and Emma knows it as she reaches for the button of her jeans. "And you're impatient," she says, popping it open.

Regina grunts, realizing her current position is no better than the last. Ignoring that very true statement, she prods her younger self with her foot and the Queen moves, not needing to ask or even take her mouth from Emma's stomach to know what she wants. 

When Regina sighs gratefully and gestures for her to get on with it, Emma doesn't disappoint. She wiggles her hips, forcing the Queen back for the moment as she shoves her jeans down her thighs. 

Regina groans when she sees the panties Emma chose that morning, somehow annoyed though still very much appreciating the decision. Not only do the sheer black panties not match her blood red bra, but nor do they belong to the woman currently wearing them.

She flicks her wrist and Emma gasps. "I believe theft is a crime, Sheriff," she purrs, panties dangling from her finger. "We wouldn't want you to have to arrest yourself."

"I suddenly feel extremely overdressed." Regina smirks, allowing the panties to slip from her finger before she makes the gesture again, this time removing the Queen's clothes with nary more than a thought.

"Better?"

"Much," she replies. 

Emma's whine says differently. "I was looking forward to removing that dress." 

Regina snorts. "Trust me, dear, my way is better for all of us." She doubts Emma would even recognize a corset, never mind have the patience to learn how to remove it without potentially injuring her past self, or worse, the corset itself. "Many women suffered each morning in order for me to look that good, myself included."

She skips mentioning said suffering occurred both during and after the fact.

It is possibly the number one thing she does not miss from the Enchanted Forest.

"It's true," the Queen admits. Emma's pout vanishes as she then takes her hand and nips the tip of a finger. Voice low, the Queen huskily confesses, "As much as I wish to savour our short time together, I was not relishing the thought of having to wait for you to get me out of that."

Emma's throat bobs with her swallow. "You better not remove yours like that," she says, moaning softly as the Queen proceeds to suck on the finger.

"The moment she screams your name," Regina teases with a cheeky grin, "the pleasure is all yours, dearest."

 

* * *

 

"Fuck," Emma breathes, snatching her hand back as she falls to her knees. "I'm sorry," she says, running her hands along warm, olive thighs. She isn't, but if she could be, she would be. "I know you want me to go slow, but I really want you both naked."

She desperately wants to play with them both, to tease them in tandem and hear their pleasured moans simultaneously. As turned on as she is at the thought of getting the Queen off while her fiancée watches, it is the thought of taking them both at the same time that arouses her more. The more she can touch, see and hear of Regina, the better. The feel of skin heating with arousal, the way she cries out, the way her face contorts and her body squirms; everything Regina becomes in the throes of passion is positively glorious and she wants that—needs that more than anything.

Eyes glazing over in desire, she misses seeing the hand that touches her cheek briefly before it slides down and around to the back of her neck. The Queen tugs her forward gently and she breathes in deeply, moaning when a familiar scent rises to greet her.

"Slow, dear." The words draw her gaze up, finding the Queen's mouth as those lips quirk slightly and tease, "Not glacial."

"Fuck," she repeats, drifting closer and closer to her goal, drawn towards that warm, heady scent as the Queen spreads her legs, inviting her in.

At the last possible second, a sliver of control asserts itself and she turns her head, placing a soft kiss against the Queen's inner thigh. "Are you sure you're..."

"You are sweet for asking," she interjects, fingers stroking the back of her neck. "But while you may be my first woman, you are not my first lover. I am sure of many things but most certainly more than most, I am sure I want your mouth on me, Em-ma."

With a half moan, half whimper, Emma buries her face between silken thighs and fuck, when she dies, she prays to god that this is her heaven; just rows upon rows of Reginas with their legs opened wide and their pussies glistening, waiting to come in her mouth for all eternity.

Wasting no time, she strokes through slick heat with the flat of her tongue, feeling fingers in her hair. She hums at both the flavour filling her mouth and the nails being gently raked against her scalp in encouragement.

As the Queen lies back, it opens her up even more and Emma sighs happily into her pussy, eyes closing. She flattens her tongue, making her strokes broader, longer. Breathy sounds of pleasure fall like soft caresses against her skin, like music in her ears, turning her on even more as arousal begins to coat her own thighs. 

She licks from opening to clit, over and over, trying to stay ahead of the desire seeping from the Queen, and failing gladly at it.  She tries to bury herself deeper, tongue delving inside, nose rubbing the bundle of nerves and sending hips bucking from the bed.

The Queen gasp-moans as Emma drives her tongue as deep as she can, fingers tightening in her hair. Tongue plunging in and out, Emma reaches up, peeling her open, pinching her folds between thumb and forefingers.

Copious heat spills forth into her mouth and she moans as she swallows, the sweetened tang slickening her throat. 

The hand in her hair tugs. Confused, her lids flutter. She extracts her tongue and peers up at the Queen curiously. "My turn."

She frowns. It was a weak release, if it could even be called that.

"No," Regina snaps, drawing her gaze. "Emma. Make her come."

Smiling, she wraps her lips around the Queen's clit, more than happy to obey. As she begins to swirl her tongue around the little nub, the Queen's mouth falls open in pleasure just before her head drops back down to the bed.

"Good girl," Regina praises, her stare loving and full of lust as their eyes meet. "Make her come, my love, then you can make me come while she plays with your sexy little body."

Emma moans, the vibrations making the Queen choke on a moan of her own, hips jerking against Emma's mouth and demanding her attention. Emma gives it, closing her eyes once more, savouring the muted sounds of pleasure as smooth thighs close down around her head.

Side by side, she rubs her thumbs along the Queen's slit, up and down while undulating hips grow more frantic, more out of control. She prods the bundle of nerves in her mouth, stabbing at it with her tongue, delighted as more and more heat drips onto her chin.

Soft murmurs encourage her onwards, quiet pleas for more interspersed with the occasional curse and whimper of her name. She relishes each along with the pain in her scalp. 

Past or future, she knows this body, knows the signs— loves every single one of them.

She sucks hard on the Queen's clit at the same moment she plunges inside, her own clit throbbing at the hoarse sound of her name coming from those lips. She pushes back against the walls contracting around her thumbs, forcing them deeper, then pulling out.

She thrusts and licks, and nibbles and sucks, feeling the thighs shake around her, the full force of the Queen's body jerking against her face, throat so dry and rough that the scream her gorgeous fiancée wants from her younger self comes as barely more than a harsh whisper.

Staying buried, she feels the shift of movement on the bed as she rests her cheek against a thigh, eyes glued to all that lovely, swollen flesh.

"Emma." 

The deep purr of her name sends her lids fluttering, a knowing shiver of need tearing down her spine as she looks up. Seeing the familiar heat in those eyes, she smiles and obeys the silent demand, sucking the sweet heat from her thumbs before she rises and climbs up, over the Queen's body, to settle on her hips.

Hands immediately grip her inner thighs as another set of eyes open. Emma squirms a little, feeling the gaze between her legs as Regina leans in over the Queen's head and kisses her.

A finger glides through her folds and a whimper sticks in her throat. She tries to pull back, wanting to see but Regina grabs the back of her neck, silently demanding her still as a warm, wet tongue forces its way into her mouth.

Regina moans and Emma follows scant seconds later, thighs clenching against hips, thrusting forward as the finger enters her swiftly.

A minute or two of the Queen sliding in and out passes before she questions suddenly, "Why did we not do this sooner?"

Feeling the grin against her mouth, Emma expects the kiss to end before it happens and she stifles the protesting groan. She knows the answer. Regina's past sexual escapades are ingrained in her memory, having been used against her simply to make her jealous because sometimes Regina just wants to be taken, hard and fast, and there is nothing quite like hearing what others have been allowed the pleasure of doing to her fiancée that will put Emma in the right mood. 

She chooses to focus on what the Queen is doing to her, not at all surprised she's growing wetter in spite of the fact she's being prodded like some form of lab experiment. 

Just having Regina touch her has always been enough to cause a veritable flood between her legs, that it is a younger version of her doing it now matters little.

A second finger joins the first and her chest rumbles with her moan. Emma shifts to allow the Queen better access only to frown down at her when she stops.

It's then she realizes Regina has moved again, her lips no more than an inch from the Queen's ear, voice low as she murmurs things to the Queen Emma can't quite hear but knows can't be good by the twin grins slowly overtaking their mouths.

She gulps audibly when both sets of eyes meet hers. She forgets, for a singular moment, that she's currently impaled and tries to move, reminded with a hitch in her breath as the Queen curls her fingers, hooking against her front wall and keeping her in place.

"Darling," Regina purrs, getting on hands and knees. Emma swallows thickly, walls clenching hard around the digits buried inside of her. She knows that tone. Good—definitely not bad— things happen when Regina uses that tone. "Why don't you crawl up here and claim your throne, hmm?"


End file.
